MATCHMAKER

“Matchmaker, your three o'clock consultation is here,” a voice came through the intercom.

She turned from the window overlooking a busy New York street and approached her couch.

“Excellent, she’s punctual. Send her in.”

Rather than a desk and chairs, the office where she consulted with clients was meant to balance style and comfort, to set them at ease while offering subtle reassurance they were receiving the highest caliber service.

So her laptop sat open on an antique coffee table and when a client entered, they would sit opposite Matchmaker in a plush loveseat, the arrangement conveying warmth and friendly intimacy.

But her admin, instead of ending the comm, hesitated. These hesitations were usually warnings. Frederick had grown up in a household where speaking directly was considered gauche. It made communication interesting.

“What is it, Frederick?”

He cleared his throat. “She has a puppy with her.”

She rested a hand on her knee. “We don't allow animals in the office. Is it a service animal?”

“She said it's an emotional needs pet and she. . .I’m not quite sure how, but she talked to me into allowing it. I'm sorry. She’s really woo positive.”

Good Lord.

Matchmaker tabbed over to the 3:00 PM's file.

Charlotte Alexia Trainor beamed through the photo, sandy brown hair in one of those artfully messy ponytails—or maybe it was just careless and the artful part was a fortunate accident—with cheerful blue eyes and a dimple. On one cheek. The physical bio read Charlotte was 5’8, a classically trained dancer, so Matchmaker wondered that in the picture her posture was slightly slumped.

The sheepishness, combined with the thousand-watt smile and the alluringly graceful physique, bemused Matchmaker. But she didn’t think she would have any trouble making Charlotte a solid match. Orc males appreciated spirit, but they also adored a touch of wholesome sweetness.

“I’m allergic to dogs, Frederick,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am. I agree pets shouldn't be let in the offices. But she’s so cute. Charlotte has her in a purse.”

“A purse?”

“Well, like one of those puppy purses. With proper ventilation.”

Matchmaker pinched the bridge of her nose. “Send them in.”

Considering the consultation fees she charged, on a case-by-case basis she sometimes relaxed certain rules—but not often. Charlotte Trainor had better charm.

In the Orc/Human matchmaking business, every client was a personality, and every personality demanded to be catered to. Well—mostly the Orcs. Humans only had to be themselves, and the males tripped over their feet to please them.

The office door opened, and a woman. . .bounded in. No, really, it was as if her toes didn't touch the ground. Matchmaker stared.

Charlotte aimed a blinding smile at Matchmaker, holding out a hand to shake after she'd crossed the room in three ground eating strides. She wore a denim jacket over a wispy summer dress, and strappy flat sandals. Matchmaker noted toned calves and a short, business like manicure. Charlotte’s makeup was minimal as well, a refreshing change from the stream of Instagram baddies wearing a full face of Kardashian tutorial.

“Oh my god, it's such an honor to meet you!” Charlotte exclaimed. “I stalk you on every social media profile, and of course I've been following your YouTube serial since it started. Your insights are inspired. I've been saving up for years to pay your fees.”

Stalk was an unfortunate choice of word. “Well, I'm glad to meet—”

“Oh, not like you don't deserve every single penny of your exorbitant price,” Charlotte interjected. “You absolutely deserve it. Especially with your hit and recidivism rates.”

Matchmaker slowly released the Human’s hand. “I am a matchmaker, not a hit woman.”

Charlotte laughed. “Wouldn't that be a fun movie to watch. Anyway, I've never done this before. What do we do?”

At that point, Matchmaker lowered her gaze to the electric blue puppy purse slung around Charlotte’s chest. A small, fluffy white dog with brown eyes stared through a ventilation panel.

It was kind of adorable.

It had also better stay in the purse.

Matchmaker sat and leaned back, crossing her legs.

“Oh, thanks for letting me bring her with me,” Charlotte said, intercepting Matchmaker's gaze. “I have an emotional regulation issue, and my therapist prescribed Snowkiss. She goes with me everywhere.”

“An emotional regulation issue? Do you mean anger management?”

Charlotte’s eyes widened, then she threw herself into the loveseat. “Oh my god, no. I wish it were that easy. No, it's this overdeveloped need to take care of everyone else around me?” Charlotte gave Matchmaker a quizzical look. “Any time I feel the need to go out of my way—which is all the time—to take care of someone else's needs before my own, I'm supposed to redirect all of that energy into Snowkiss.”

“I see. You have boundary issues.” Orcs, fortunately enough, were a nurturing species. Charlotte might do very well among them.

“Yup! That's the term. I’m glad you understand. I feel comfortable placing myself in your hands.”

Matchmaker pressed the comm on her laptop. “Frederick, can you send in a pot of chamomile tea?” The sleepy time blend, were the unspoken words. “For my guest.”

“Right away.”

“Let's get started, Charlotte. Tell me about yourself. Your goal for love, your wants, and your emotional wounds.”

* * *

Charlotte took a deep breath then exhaled, trying to settle some of her excess energy.

Well, to be honest, none of it was exactly excess. It was who she was. Positive, upbeat, outgoing. She'd been driven into therapy because of it, not because those were bad traits, but because they were slightly. . .

. . .unbalanced.

Unhinged, her twin liked to say.

Snowkiss yipped.

Charlotte gave Matchmaker, staring at her with steady brown eyes, a strained smile and sank deeper into the cream loveseat. Smiles always made everything better, her mother used to say. Smiles diffused a situation and signaled your willingness to go the extra mile to reach a happy accord.

But then her mother had also spent her entire marriage placating a man who liked to communicate with his fists, so there was that.

So maybe she was in therapy for more than just her upbeat personality.

But, evidently, Orcs weren’t like that. Charlotte had spent as much time studying their culture as she had stalking Matchmaker.

“Okay,” Charlotte said. “I've watched every episode of your YouTube serial, and I've been thinking about these questions for weeks.”

Lie. She'd been thinking about those questions for months, years. Telling Matchmaker she stalked her on social media was a polite, happy way of reframing a mild obsession.

But no one needed to know all that.

“My goal is simple. I'm looking for true love. Yes, I know you're going to ask me what true love means to me. To me it means compatibility, open communication, and the freedom to be spontaneous.”

It had taken months to drill a thesis down to those three simple things.

Because there was so. Much. She. Wanted.

But, focus.

Matchmaker notated her digital notebook. Charlotte recognized the model. She recognized the model because it was on her five-year aspirational wish list for when she actually had money; actually meaning money that wasn't earmarked for rent, utilities, and the bare minimum of food.

Mostly rent.

This was New York.

So eating was optional, though it turned out you couldn’t eat the plaster off the walls. She’d been tempted to try once. Or possibly twice.

Of course, if she hadn't paid the $3000 retainer to join MillionOrc Matchmaking, she could have afforded that model digital notebook. And food.

But whatever, priorities.

“What do you want?” Matchmaker asked in her smooth, lightly accented voice. She peered at Charlotte from behind thin wire framed glasses. “What's your wish list?”

“They have to be emotionally available, and a great sense of humor. Also, and I know you say to be realistic about physical wish list items, so I've decided that realistically, I'd like someone who cares about their health. Health is important to me.”

“Of course. You're a professional ballet dancer. So nutrition, health, and fitness must be a large part of your life.”

“Oh my god, I'm obsessed. But then you have to be. I’ll need someone who can handle that aspect of my life because we can get a bit laser focused.”

“Can you give me an example of a time where someone didn't meet this need?”

“Not a specific time.” That Charlotte cared to recall. She suppressed a grimace, absently stroking Snowkiss’s head. It was unzipped just enough that she could poke her head out—and she did. A grimace wasn't the signal she wanted to send. “But I've had exes who insisted that a cupcake would make everything better, or a few days off in the middle of a demanding season. Or they thought I wasn’t caring for my injuries properly and it meant I was unhealthy.”

“You also have a robust social media following.”

“Yes, and my Orc can’t be a jealous type. It's a part of the job these days. I'm developing my influencer brand and eventually that'll lead to more opportunities. I know some of them were coming from a place of caring when they questioned the amount of time I spend on the apps, but that wasn't what I needed. I get balance in everything but. . .ballet isn't a sport where there's a lot of balance.”

“Understood. Which is why respecting boundaries is important to you.”

Charlotte leaned forward. “Exactly! I don't want them to feel like they can't express their concerns, but I need them to respect my lifestyle as well. I don't want to argue about what I need to do to maintain my career, you know? There are so many other things that we could be arguing about.”

Like food versus the MillionOrc’s membership fees.

“Excellent. You do seem to have put a lot of thought into this. And your emotional wound?”

Charlotte laughed. “Oh my god, this is so romance novel.” She knew, since her twin sister was an indie romance author, and she’d been subjected to enough ranting about plotting versus pantsing that Charlotte was tempted to try her hand at a book. Especially since her twin could, you know, afford both shelter and a full fridge. “The emotional wound.”

She cleared her throat, also aware from therapy that this was a signal of her nervousness. “Well, my parents didn't have the best marriage growing up so I always played the peacemaker. My mother was a real people pleaser too. That was more. . .self-defense.”

Charlotte gave a weak smile. And moved on quicker than a mugger who’d realized his mark was an off-duty officer.

“Anyway, I learned how to take care of everyone else, to meet their needs. I guess before they could lash out at me, you know? So I tend to burn out. I need someone who won't suck the living life out of me.”

“So not another dancer.”

Charlotte laughed. “Oh my god, no! Please not another dancer.”

“You say ‘oh my god’ often. Are you religious?”

“Oh my god, no. It's more like a nervous tick.”

“I see. Let’s move on to logistics.”

Matchmaker pushed aside her tablet as the admin, Frederick, entered with a teapot and clear mugs. The matchmaker poured, handing Charlotte a mug and waited until Frederick left.

“Our Orcs are looking for committed partnerships that lead to marriage, and approximately 40% of the Orcs on our roster are also looking for Humans willing to have a child within the first two years of an established partnership. During your intake, you indicated you were amenable to that timeline.” Matchmaker sipped. “We aren’t a dating service, Charlotte, I want to make that clear. We are a marriage and family service for Orc/Human couples.”

It had been explained to Charlotte that there was a subset of Orcs, both male and female, who were intrigued by and preferred Human partners. There wasn’t any social media infighting between the Orc sexes, so Charlotte was inclined to believe that Orcs specifically seeking out Humans wasn’t necessarily a toxic preference, but just. . . a preference.

Personally, she thought they were being encouraged to mix cross species because of certain property laws that favored Humans, and growing anti-Orc protest over the decades. After all, many believed they weren’t native to Earth. Their upper classes still held matchmaking balls every ten years, and there were rumors that this year the Orc governor’s son would be attending.

Which was, way, way above Charlotte’s paygrade.

“Charlotte?”

She jerked her mind back into focus. “My career is important, and I think I’d like the first year after the start of a committed relationship to just be for us. But after that, I've decided it's better to do the baby thing while I'm still young and have a lot of energy. It'll mean taking some time out from my career eventually, but family is a goal that's as important to me.”

“Excellent.” Matchmaker smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “Since we're all on the same page, I'm going to mark you as active. The tier you selected, you'll have your first date within a week, Charlotte. How does that sound?”

Charlotte grinned. “It sounds great.”

So why was her stomach churning?